


sleep is for the human

by mischianza



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drinking, M/M, Pool & Billiards, Snark, Staring, takes place in early s3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischianza/pseuds/mischianza
Summary: The logical conclusion to all their contentious meetings. It has been this way for twenty years, after all.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	sleep is for the human

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chekhov's Teacup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010525) by [mischianza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischianza/pseuds/mischianza). 



The lights burned low, and the air was heavy – with words, perhaps, or mere anticipation. Elias found Peter in a corner, as he always did; like the more recent years of this, he did not even need to sense his presence. They sat at a distance at a table that could have seated four others, as indeed was its purpose. 

“A game of luck this time, perhaps?”

Elias almost smiled. “Have you no trust in me?” 

“None.” 

“Smarter than you look, Peter Lukas. And anyway, you should know that there _is_ no luck.”

“Skill, then?” 

“I request a drink first…” Elias glanced around him, at the shabby carpeting and worn chairs and tables. “...Though I highly doubt such a place would drain my funds terribly.”

“I might request more than one, if only for the amusement of watching you.” 

“I drink, Peter, you just have the fortune of only seeing me once a year.” 

“What, alone? You? No, this is _entirely_ different. Let me get you something.” 

Elias leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on Peter. “An offer? For what purpose is this?” He nearly laughed as a thought occurred to him. “Could you be attempting to poison me so we never have to meet again?” 

“I’ll furnish you with an ordinary, human glass of wine.” 

“For such an ordinary human as I…” 

“Keep yourself company.” 

“Come now, no curses.” He waited until Peter’s back was turned before adding, “I’ll watch for you.” This too was a game, yet even so he made sure of the presence of others, tilting the brim of his hat lower so the unwitting patrons wouldn’t see his eyes on them. They were boring, as it happened. _Does Peter deliberately populate his haunts with humans I won’t find interesting to heighten my…_ He did not think the word “isolation.” He thought it might _do_ something. In any case, these people were boring of their own accord...and some, as it happened, were turning to look at him, as though something had perhaps brushed against the back of their chairs, or shoulders. 

And just like that, Peter returned. “Thinking of leaving?” Elias, still glancing at each of the patrons just to watch them become noticeably unsettled, did not respond. “I left my coat on my chair, though I suspect others may be different…” 

Elias, looking straight ahead, removed his tan trench coat and set it on the chair beside him. Strategically avoiding Peter’s pleased face, he wrinkled his nose at the other coat, left in a chair at the far end of the table. “Oilcloth? Hasn’t this midlife crisis of yours gone far enough?” Beside the coat, Peter made a derisive noise. Elias noted with some amount of pleasure that he was avoiding eye contact more openly than before. He set his hat on the table like a centrepiece, or perhaps a dividing line. 

“I do thank you for waiting to mock my chosen occupation until we are well outside the sphere of business.” 

“Oh, it’s always business where we are concerned, is it not?” He glanced at the drinks, noted the crystal in which his waited, of finer quality than he expected for such an establishment. “Sherry.” Peter’s eyes lit up as if this were a lucky guess and not an act of knowing he had done even before Peter returned to the table. 

“I would bring it to you, but my hands have handled the oilcloth...and many other things having to do with my occupation that I’m sure you’d hate, on principle -” 

“No, I’m certain you still have your ordinary hands. Bring it here.” He couldn’t help but notice that Peter took the long way around the table and reached across him to place the glass. Elias took his wrist. “Yes, you still have Lukas hands.” Peter nodded. “Good for many things.” 

“A game of chance, I say,” said Peter, finding his seat once more.

“A game of strategy, _I_ say.” Elias would not, however, compel Peter on this point (or any others, in fact, if he wanted to avoid the Lonely entirely). He hoped the dark ale Peter was drinking rather quickly would intoxicate him faster than the sherry Elias had, however unlikely this possibility was. In any case, Elias paced himself. “I know better than to fall for one of your bets, anyway. Try one of these people.” He looked around them at the crowd that had grown larger in the time they had been sitting. A group might have wanted their table, if said group were in any way willing to approach these strange men talking as if they sat beside each other, which none of them were. 

“You know as well as anyone they’re bets, not tricks.” Peter leaned closer, ever so slightly. “Are you saying you don’t simply read me to see whether I’m lying to you?” 

“You tell me.” Elias smiled, a smile that did not reach his eyes (though they rarely, if ever, did). “I trust after all these years you can determine whether I am using the Eye on you.” 

“Of course I -” 

“So you know, then, that I am not reading your thoughts if you are making a bet with me. In any case, out of everyone whose thoughts and motives interest me, I have...other priorities.” 

“The billiard table is unoccupied, it seems…” 

Elias did not ordinarily like games he did not orchestrate, but he relished the thought of making Peter lose. “So it is.” 

They relinquished their table to a group who looked relieved not to have had to speak to either of them. “You walk as if this place is full of enemies.” 

“Perhaps it is.”

“I don’t think you’d spend so much time here if that were the case.” 

“You know full well I only ever come here with you.” 

“Even so.” 

Elias paused beside Peter as they approached the table, insisting softly, “I know who my enemies are, and I know how they must be defeated.” 

“You’ve already personally killed – what, two?” Peter said, louder than strictly necessary given the surroundings. “One more and they might call you a serial killer.” 

One of the patrons at the table nearest to the billiards tried to surreptitiously turn around, only to lock eyes with Elias. The unwitting patron turned back. “I am not so obvious as that.” 

“Aren’t you?” Elias busied himself preparing the game so as to not visibly bristle. “Snooker, eh? In the spirit of the establishment, I assume?” 

“As much as I would love seeing whose arms are longer, this will illustrate my point far more effectively.” 

“As for me, I’m playing for mere enjoyment of the game, but when does Elias Bouchard not have some _larger point_.” 

“They would almost be a threat if all gathered together, as you see here...and we of course know which are the most valuable, and thus...most important to break.” Peter noted that Elias had evidently determined he was to go first by some dedication to the speech he was making, not any dedication to the rules, which Peter then realized Elias was going to manipulate to serve his points most ideally. In other words, it was a typical game against Elias Bouchard. Peter almost laughed. (For despite all his machinations, Elias rarely won.) “Look how easy it is...all in one motion, nearly all of them gone.” 

“Not so fast.” 

Elias raised an eyebrow, as if surprised his opponent would interfere. “Fine, then; take your turn.” He evaluated Peter from the other end of the table. “Am I to believe that you will assist me in this endeavour?” 

“If you offer something in exchange, I may be persuaded.” And then he took a shot with his cue that Elias had to admit was almost impressive. 

“Ah, you chose that one.” 

“What, have you named them?” Peter asked, amusement in his voice. Elias raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to respond to me in any way other than...doing that?” 

Elias leaned against the table, the dim light around them resting on his face in a way Peter found himself liking. His green eyes glinted. “Where’s the fun in telling you?” Walking around the table, he continued, “I should thank you, I suppose; you’ve left this one open for me.” 

“Is that your favourite?” 

“I don’t have favourites, Peter,” he said into Peter’s ear before he could be aware of Elias’s presence. Elias positioned himself directly in front of where Peter stood. 

“Is suspense part of your strategy, then?” Elias turned around. “I thought your section of the table was over there.” 

“This is not a nineteenth century battlefield, old friend.” Elias’s tone was icy. “The table is open, and I will go where I please.” 

“Fine.”

Elias smirked. “Switch with me, then.” 

“Gladly.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Peter’s voice. 

“Oh, come now, we always were rather good at such things.” Peter’s steps faltered, and Elias took that moment to make his move.

From the position that was formerly Elias’s, Peter furrowed his brow as if deep in thought. “Impressive. But you haven’t won yet.” 

Elias finished his nearly-forgotten sherry in one abrupt gulp. “But I _have_.” 

“As much as I hate to contradict your world-view…” Peter glanced at Elias’s eyes to be absolutely certain he was watching. (He was. He began tapping his foot in impatience.) “There,” said Peter with triumph. 

Elias smiled one of the coldest smiles Peter had seen, picking up his now-empty glass to remove it from the path of one of the balls Peter had sent flying. The room seemed darker, the music more intense, the people more...aware. Elias took his next shot so aggressively the ball hit the rim of the table with a sound noticeable to the unfortunate person at the nearest table who had earlier attempted to catch a glimpse of him, just in case he did turn out to be a serial killer. 

“Well something certainly _has_ gotten into you, Elias,” Peter said in the tone of both an amused lover and a disapproving professor. “I haven’t seen you this way since...oh, was it last year?”

“Peter, would you like to be the third?” 

“I must say I’d prefer you to be only minimally involved in my death.” (This was said at a volume multiple patrons could hear, and they expressed this in their eyes if not anywhere else.)

“Then I’d advise you not to provoke me.” In his eyes was a challenge, or perhaps a threat. He set his glass down once more with a crash. Peter finished the game rather unceremoniously, and looked at Elias, and smiled. “Did you plan this?” 

“I don’t make plans.” 

“Come here,” said Elias, evenly. 

“You expect me to trust you.”

“I expect nothing.” Elias began collecting the billiard balls, slamming each one on the table, his cue positioned neatly along one side. “What have you done.” 

“Won a game of snooker, I believe.” 

“And this victory will be your last, so enjoy your satisfaction while you have it.”

“Come now, it’s only a game.” 

“The world does not contain such things as mere _games_.”

“You say that only because you’re terrible at them.”

Elias put on his hat and turned around. “You take that back,” he hissed. 

“Why should I?” Peter asked, utterly amused. 

“I’m leaving.”

“So soon? It’s only nine thirty.” 

Elias paused, as if pondering some complex problem. “Come to think of it…” This only heightened Peter’s amusement. “Come here.” When Peter wouldn’t move, he held out a finger, beckoning. “ _You_ are leaving.” 

Peter laughed, but he followed of his own volition, coming into an alleyway on the other side of the pub lit by a single flickering light. “I doubt this is your favourite murder spot.” 

“I do have a knife.” 

“Ooh, I’m _terrified…_ ” 

“When my presence is requested in a place where I may get robbed, I take precautions.” Elias stopped at the door of a car sleeker and shinier than the alleyway usually saw. “Get in.” 

“Certain this coat won’t ruin your precious and clearly quite expensive vehicle?” 

Peter was going to get in. Elias could see that. “Good try.” He rested a hand on top of the now-open driver’s side door. “But you’re leaving.” He noticed the exact moment Peter gave up all attempts to resist. Elias’s lip curled into something approximating a smile. He put the key in the ignition with the energy of a man committing murder, something Peter would perhaps have commented upon were he in a better mood – and thus a third presence was introduced, for Elias had not turned off his radio upon arriving at the pub. The soft yet authoritative voice was engaged in discussing the stock market, filling the space between them like an oblivious and insistent acquaintance. Elias gripped the wheel. Peter sighed heavily. 

“Is this your plan, then? Kill me in your car?”

“I have killed absolutely no one with my vehicle, Peter, directly or indirectly.” 

“There was a stop about a block ago…”

“I looked.” Elias swerved suddenly, avoiding a car rapidly entering their path. “As I did just now.” 

“Where exactly are you going?” 

Elias turned to face him, and smiled. “Where do you _think_ I am going?” Peter did not respond. “What, are you…” Elias’s smile grew wider. “...afraid?” 

“Would you look at the road, damn you—“ 

“Is it not enough to perceive it?” he hissed, then inhaled sharply, stopping to avoid another possible collision. (The man in the other vehicle yelled something he elected to ignore.) “Oh _hell_.” 

“No. It isn’t.” 

Continuing on in a strangely calm fashion, Elias said, “I have no plans to deposit you in some populous square with no way of escape—though it is, I am afraid, the week-end and were you to be in such a place you would feel quite... _trapped_ by the revellers, would you not?” His intonation sounded not unlike the man on the radio, still discussing stocks. “I would not bother with such a thing. You would get out of it too quickly.” 

“I’d be more worried if you were actually going in that direction but this does in fact look like the route to the river…”

“Good observation.” 

“Am I expected to thank you?” Elias did not dignify this with a response. The river grew ever closer and he kept his eyes fixed upon it. “The silent treatment is unlike you.” 

Elias, grateful that the dock at this moment was utterly deserted, parked as abruptly as he did anything else and opened the door without so much as a glance. “And you,” he said as he walked around to Peter’s side. “I waste my words on _you_.” Peter did not move, or give any indication he heard. “ _You_ are a liar, and a gambler—“ (Peter could not resist laughing at this.) “--and a scoundrel, and a _villain_.” Elias’s open palm slammed against Peter’s chest, as if to punctuate this. Peter gave no response. “You are _leaving_.”

Peter blinked. “Oh, am I?” 

“Get on your boat, and leave me.” Elias spoke this mostly in the direction of Peter’s shoulder. 

Peter spoke softly. “Is that what you want?” There was an odd smirk on his face. 

Elias lifted the brim of his hat. “Yes.” Peter could feel Elias’s eyes on him, as if they were burning. 

“Tired of me that quickly?” Elias began to turn away, toward a ship that waited in the moonlight. “That isn’t the _Tundra_ , you know.” 

“I know, Peter.” His voice rose above the water, the wind. Of course he did. 

“That doesn’t prevent me from leaving, of course…” 

Elias’s eyes narrowed. “Please, Peter. You are dreadfully boring but I doubt you’d enjoy spending the rest of your shore leave in the exact same way you spend every day of your life.” 

“I enjoy my cabin.” 

Elias smiled, showing his teeth. Peter did not enjoy it when he did that. It made his face look...unsettling. Too gleeful. “Tell me it is _never_ dull, even for one moment.” Peter fixed his gaze on the water. “You never think of anything else. Anything…” 

“You wish.” 

“I don’t have to.” 

“What is this, Elias?”

“An invitation.” An invitation Peter accepted, albeit slowly. He watched Elias return to the driver’s seat, anger seemingly gone. He seemed almost...pleased. Peter attempted to glance at him surreptitiously. “Ah, now _that_ is unlike you.” (Returning from the harbour, Elias kept his outward glance entirely fixed on the road.) He turned off the radio in a quick, fluid motion, continuing, “Difficult to resist the temptation, is it not? Yet I might suggest sliding one’s eyes rather than...turning one’s entire head, perhaps?” Peter faced forward once more. (It was not difficult for him. Peter did not enjoy looking at people, as a rule, and Elias less than most, yet he was always terribly intriguing.) 

They wove between tall, dark buildings, Peter half convinced Elias was intentionally making the route longer than necessary and _enjoying_ it. He commented upon the buildings they passed and the things he had, on occasion, seen within them – arguments, often; many of these surrounding divorces and separations. Peter was terribly bored. He slid his hand across the seat, as though Elias were the sort of ordinary human who would not notice such an action, and rested it on Elias’s thigh. 

Elias paused. “Oh, is _that_ all?” He placed his hand atop Peter’s with an intensity that burned, until Peter’s hand pressed into him above the knee. “I would continue our discussion of architecture--” Peter made an attempt to hold back laughter. “--but I see we are approaching…” He trailed off thoughtfully, tipping his head toward an elegant brick building with a courtyard enclosed in wrought iron. Then he slid Peter’s hand up his thigh. “ _Ah_.” 

“You’ve waited until this moment to take your focus off the road. An excellent choice. Make sure you avoid the fence.” 

“This may be difficult to understand, but one may focus on multiple things at hand.” 

“I’m not certain _you_ can at this particular moment,” said Peter, noting only after saying this that Elias had managed to park the car perfectly. 

“You _wish_ to be terribly distracting. Come, you should know where I live.” 

Elias unlocked the courtyard gate, letting it creak closed and slam behind them, as if to announce their entrance. He tipped his hat to the doorman. Peter grunted and tried to avoid eye contact. They took the lift to the top floor – or, as the security camera recorded it, at 22:49 the lift took itself to the top floor – and when the door opened and they stepped into a warmly-lit hallway, Elias paused, smiling slowly as if hearing something. “My unfortunate neighbours continue this argument...I suspect they will separate soon.” 

Peter nodded as if noting this vital information. “The people here are sad.”

Elias smiled. “ _Very_ sad.” He invited Peter into his flat, gesturing toward a hook on the wall Peter ignored, throwing his oilcloth coat over the back of a chair instead. “They grow more restless with each year.” Elias placed his coat and hat on a rack by the door, quickly running a hand through his hair so nothing was out of place. Peter watched this gesture with fascination. He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arm around Elias’s waist, kissing his neck. Elias let himself be pressed against the wall with a soft gasp, eyes wide. “There’s, ah, a place for this, you know…” 

“Aren’t we there?” 

“Not quite,” Elias spoke into Peter’s ear, letting his lips brush against Peter’s face. 

“Must it _always_ be in a bed?” 

“Where do you suggest?” He felt Peter’s hand slip beneath his jacket, fingering the waistband of his trousers. “The coffee-table? _Under_ the coffee-table? The sofa? The armchair in front of--” He tilted his head. “-- _that_ window?” His eyes lit up as a genuinely enjoyable thought occurred to him. “The bath?” 

Peter did not share this enjoyment. “Fair enough.” (The bedroom, at least, only contained one mirror and it was positioned in such a way for ease of looking at oneself, rather than ease of looking at others, unlike the other mirrors in Elias’s flat.) 

Elias attempted to ignore the hand pressing noticeably below his waist with some insistence. “I would request you remove your shoes.” 

“Is that cologne?” 

“You notice all the details, don’t you.” 

Peter tried a different tactic. “Can you wait that long?” He palmed Elias’s growing hardness. Elias brushed his hand away. 

“Oh, I can wait.” Peter sighed. He did not want to give Elias the satisfaction of very nearly getting on his knees in front of him. As it happened, he did not need to be concerned about such a thing, for Elias slipped out of his grasp and proceeded to walk down the hall to his bedroom. 

Peter found Elias in his closet ensuring the suits were organized, door swung wide open. He watched Peter from the mirror in which he glanced at his own face, hot and yet not outwardly blushing (he did _not_ blush), clothes folded in a neat pile on the chair that sat in the centre of the space. Peter looked in from the doorway, noting with disappointment that Elias had only managed to remove his jacket and trousers. In the mirror, Elias narrowed his eyes. “Bored?” He untied his tie with deft fingers, taking slightly longer than necessary to return it to its proper place among his clothes. (This was, after all, an invitation; yet rather than accepting it and watching him, Peter decided to rummage through the liquor cabinet and noisily pour himself a whiskey.)

“Hmm,” he said from the doorway once more. “Fine quality, this.” 

“Is that doubt in your voice?” Elias sauntered over to Peter, plucking the glass from his hand and taking a very quick swig. 

“I thought you didn’t like whiskey.” 

Elias hid his grimace as he felt it burning in his throat. “Why would it be here, then? As a gift for you?” He smirked. “That isn’t a gift for _you_ any more than... _this_ is,” he said, finally unbuttoning his shirt, an act Peter watched with poorly-hidden enthusiasm. He downed the rest of the whiskey. Elias made a disapproving noise. “I would hate for that to go to your head.” (This came out more seriously than he intended.) 

Peter leaned against the door-frame. “You needn’t worry. It won’t affect my skill.” 

“Ah, where would we be without you being sure to mention your... _skill_.” Elias ran his hands over Peter’s sweater. “Does your prowess include removing your clothing or is it purely in words?” He let his voice become a murmur, only the smallest hint of a request. 

“You tell me.” 

“That is, of course, to say nothing of my own, which you have...enjoyed greatly? May I say that?” He said this last sentence with full eye contact, smiling triumphantly. 

“What, in ‘98?” 

“Oh yes, 1998, when I was your fir--” Peter pressed his mouth against Elias’s abruptly. “Mmh.” He freed himself from the kiss long enough to get some words out. “You appeared quite impressed, if I recall.” 

“I wasn’t that impressed,” Peter said blandly, letting the sweater fall to the floor in an unceremonious heap. 

Elias listened to the lie with an affected blank expression. “Ah. I see.” And then he returned the kiss with enthusiasm, holding Peter tightly enough that he wondered if Peter might push him away, or ask him to stop, or perhaps throw him on the bed in the exact way he had been imagining for approximately an hour. Peter did not do any of these things. He moved to kiss down Elias’s neck with increasing intensity as Elias sighed into Peter’s movements, and smelled the whiskey on his breath, and noted just how _pale_ everything about him was and how cold the flat became as soon as he stepped into it, and wondered if he knew how terribly lonely the man next door was and how, with very limited effort on their part, said man would be able to hear the _exact_ sort of thing that was about to happen and only increase his loneliness further. “Take me to bed.” 

Peter’s free hand moved down Elias's thigh. Elias, for his part, stepped back, as if to show Peter how serious he was – as if this seriousness was not illustrated by his continuing to stand there in his underclothes and socks. Peter’s hand remained in the same place (though his empty glass now sat on the floor), but he did as he was told. He placed a hand on the bed to steady himself. He tried to ignore the light in the room and how it seemed perfectly calculated to make Elias appear as desirable as possible, as if any such tricks were needed. He was already impossibly distracted. Elias pulled him into another kiss, heady, open-mouthed, hands pulling Peter’s trousers off of him with rather impressive speed. He found a certain place on Peter’s neck, caressing it with his teeth (for he could play this game as well, and, he fancied, _better_ ). The caress turned to a bite. 

“Straddle me,” Peter whispered.

Elias smirked. “No.” He moved to lay in the centre of the bed, head resting on, and among, a pile of pillows Peter would have found somewhat ridiculous if he were not otherwise occupied. Elias pulled Peter down on top of him. He felt large hands pull off his underwear and throw it aside – yet he did not have time to have any thought of annoyance at this, because Peter’s fingers touched him with a deftness he found difficult to believe. Elias gestured at a small drawer in his bedside table, to which Peter turned his attention with eagerness. “I suppose you have forgotten where I keep it, though I cannot fathom _how…_ ” 

“As if there is nothing I could possibly be distracted by…” Peter muttered, retrieving the small bottle. 

“So terribly distracted you would take me without adequate preparation?” 

“ _Take_ you?”

“You know what I mean.”

There was a smile in Peter’s countenance. “Can’t say I do.” And then Elias gasped softly, nearly inaudibly, as Peter slid a finger into him. 

“Another.” He took a drawn-out breath. Peter was now reciprocating his earlier harsh kisses, sinking teeth into skin. “Lower.” With a hand tangled in Peter’s hair, he pushed Peter’s mouth to his throat. 

Peter paused. “Will you close your eyes?”

 _How absurd_. “I want to watch you fuck me.” Elias pronounced each word slowly, carefully, feeling Peter shiver. _Ah, that’s what to call it_. Peter quickly divested himself of his remaining clothes before Elias grew bored, or decided to take matters into his own hands. He then returned to his ministrations until Elias said, “I think that’s quite enough, don’t you?” 

Peter took him slowly, as if seeing how long he would last, until – “Faster.” Peter paused, incredulous. “I want it to _hurt_ , a little.” So Peter did not wait, and did not worry about gentleness, pressing into Elias with all the intensity he felt. “Ah!” Elias covered his mouth, as if the sound were a mistake. Peter looked at him with an expression of amusement, and Elias would have been terribly annoyed, if Peter were not also terribly _good_ at what he was doing. 

Soft gasps escaped Elias’s mouth. He let the bed shake against his better judgment, though he noted with some amusement that his neighbour could hear this distinctly. It was a far better feeling than the growing awareness of just how much he liked Peter’s arms firmly around him. He avoided Peter’s glance, in case he began to suspect anything. 

Peter gave absolutely no thought to the intricacies of Elias’s head. He felt Elias’s leg wrap around his waist, pressing him against a chest more firm than he expected. Restraint became very difficult. He avoided the eyes seemingly blazing into the side of his face but surrendered entirely to the feel of Elias. Fingers grasped his back, occasionally scratching. “Polite.” The word came out more as a grunt. 

Elias only sighed, the sort of sigh that verged on a moan but that Peter would not comment upon. “Deeper.” And then, when this was obeyed, “Mmh.” 

He held on as Peter came, panting, pressing him into the mattress, the occasional whispered “ _fuck_ ” escaping his lips. And then he sat up, and locked eyes with Elias, who said, “Don’t you _dare_ move.” So he remained in place. Elias moved slowly, stroking himself with languid motions. “Oh _yes_.” 

\---

Peter said nothing, as was expected. Elias covered himself with a silk robe and went into the kitchen to make himself an espresso. Sleep was for the human. He noticed Peter disappear out the door – a most human disappearance – with idle interest, though by now Peter was only as interesting as the many others he could perceive from this exact spot. He took his seat in the armchair as Peter reached the ground floor, and then all awareness of him vanished, like a lost radio signal. It was as it should be. The man in the flat next door cried reluctant, bitter tears. The neighbours across the hall dreamed bitter dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate to do this but if you enjoyed this, would you consider commenting? It would mean a lot to me. (I should've made this note when I first posted this fic but it felt gross to ask for comments, so I'm doing it now.)


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